


Elderflower & Oakmoss

by delawana



Series: Raynda Lavellan, Inquisitor [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Limbs, Post-Trespasser
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-01-23 17:30:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21323971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delawana/pseuds/delawana
Summary: The only thing that Raynda Lavellan has ever been good at in her entire life was shooting a bow - everything else she touched seemed to fall apart. When her hand began to glow and she was heralded as the saviour of Thedas, she began to believe that she might amount to more than just a scout for her clan. And then, almost in a single instance, she lost it all, her ability to shoot, the mark that made her special, and the position that had given her purpose.The Inquisitor was dead. But who was Raynda without that title?
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford
Series: Raynda Lavellan, Inquisitor [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1708651
Kudos: 16





	1. Awake

She was falling, hurtling through the air at speed and yet somehow unconcerned about what would happen when she hit the ground. Or flying maybe? She couldn't tell. There were blurry shapes moving around her. She couldn’t make out what they were. People? Friends or enemies? It didn’t seem to matter anymore. Voices that were somehow familiar, like a distant memory of a dream, speaking to each other. The noises they were making seemed angry, but she couldn’t quite make out the words. They sounded odd, like distorted vibrations in a cave. Her eyes just felt so heavy. The last thing she remembered was a hand on the side of her face smoothing her hair behind her ear.

* * *

She opened her eyes again what felt like a moment later. Wherever she was still seemed to be clouded in a haze. It appeared to be indoors - a bedroom? Her nose was itchy. She reached to scratch it with her left hand. She couldn’t reach. Why couldn’t she reach. _Why couldn’t she reach? WHY COULDN’T SHE REACH?!_ She tried to touch her left hand with her right but found only an empty blanket. Her pulse began to pound between her ears until all she could hear was its rhythm. She couldn’t breathe, it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. There was a sharp pain in her ribcage. She was certain she was dying.

She felt a hand touch her face. She wasn’t sure whose it was, but it felt somehow familiar. Someone drew close to her, sitting beside her and leaning over her protectively. Her eyes couldn’t seem to focus; the person was just a blur of brown and gold. Her breathing began to slow and the incessant hammering of her heartbeat started to quiet as they stayed near her. They smelled comforting, like home and love, like elderflower and oakmoss. The scent triggered a memory of something she needed to do.

“Cullen. I need to tell Cullen… I’m okay.” Her voice sounded strange, like it was coming from someone else far away.

“I’m here, my darling, I know. You don’t have to write me a letter this time.” The voice was gentle and soft and warm. It made her feel safe. “You are going to be fine. You are going to get better soon.”

She blinked a few times and the haze began to clear. Lips with a scar above them on one side, dark amber eyes like warm honey. _Cullen._

The only thing she could focus on was his face. He seemed concerned. He always worried about her too much.

“Is that an order, Commander?” she asked with the strange, dreamy voice, trying to smile to reassure him. She wasn’t sure if she accomplished it, her face didn’t seem to want to listen.

“It absolutely is.” He said the words with intensity and a desperation that almost made her nervous. He then gently tucked her hair behind her ear, the tender gesture contrasting sharply with the ferocity of his tone.

“Then alright,” she said, as her eyes closed of their own volition.

* * *

Her dreams were filled with scattered thoughts, seemingly random memories that didn’t feel like memories but like a life lived by someone else.

Josephine in the room, looking exhausted, putting down a tray.

_You have to eat._

__

__

_Stop pushing. I assure you I won’t starve to death._

The scent of Dorian’s cologne.

_Get some rest. I’ll sit with her._

__

I won’t leave her.

__

_You aren’t the only one who loves her._

Cassandra’s heavy tread on the marble floor.

_You’re no use to her half dead._

__

__

_Stay with me?_

The rhythmic cadence of the Chant of Light.

* * *

She awoke to the sound of a dog grunting in his sleep, rolling over her feet. Feeling lucid for the first time in what seemed like weeks, she looked around. She was in the bedroom she’d been assigned at Halamshiral when the Exalted Council started. The paintings on the walls and ceiling had made her uncomfortable the first time she’d entered the room and they were no less discomfiting now. Especially the untrustworthy peacock painted on the ceiling above the bed, staring down at her shiftily, like he disapproved of her. A fire was burning in the hearth and sunlight was filtering into the room from the spaces where the curtains met. Looking at the end of the bed was Cullen’s Mabari hound, snoring softly. On her left was Cullen himself, sitting on a stool, his head laid on his arms on the bed. She reached out to smooth his hair.

_Oh, right._

It was all starting to come back to her now. Chasing Qunari through eluvians, encountering a dragon, meeting used-to-be-a-friend-but-actually-an-elven-god Solas - it seemed like it should have been a fever dream. She might have dismissed it as such if she still had her arm. But she didn’t, and so it must have happened. How does one even begin to process all that?

The last thing she could remember clearly was her arm aching and glowing green as Solas walked away, the eluvian turning dark behind him as he left. As soon he left her forearm began to go translucent and the pain increased, reaching an intensity she didn’t realize she could stand and then she couldn’t stand it and everything went dark. Her memories were all fuzzy after that and she still wasn’t sure what had been real and what was a product of her fevered mind.

She lifted her left arm, uncovering it from the many blankets on top of her. It was bare - it wasn’t until that moment that she realized that she was in her underclothes rather than the armour she remembered passing out in. But more than that, it ended abruptly before her elbow. There was just nothing past that. It wasn’t painful anymore. If she closed her eyes she could pretend it was someone else’s arm. She still had an arm. She could still fight. She could still hold a bow. She could easily touch the man she loved sleeping beside her. She tried to choke down the panic rising inside her, but an errant tear escaping from eye betrayed her and suddenly she found herself unable to stop crying. She didn’t even feel sad, that was the most aggravating part. Soon she was shaking with breathy sobs and still felt nothing but numbness. Her chest hurt every time she moved even slightly.

There was movement at the foot of the bed. The dog raised his head to look at her, then squirmed up higher on the bed until he was beside her and began to lick the salty tears from her face. She pushed him away, making a noise somewhere in between a laugh and a sob, then began to pet him in an attempt to convince him to stay down. Her tears were finally stopping, nearly as quickly as when they’d started, helped by the solid and reassuring presence against her.

The commotion caused Cullen to awaken with a start. His blond hair was standing in every direction and curling ever so slightly, reminding her of a startled porcupine. It made her smile. The fear and concern that had been present in his tired eyes when he first woke up softened into relief when he saw his wife.

“Raynda! You’re awake. Thank the Maker.” He ran his hands over her, touching her hair, her forehead, her shoulders, as though he just needed confirm that neither one of them were still asleep and dreaming.

“More so than you I think.” Even wounded, she could never resist the opportunity to tease him. She reached for his hair with her right hand to try to pat it down, then recoiled in pain from her ribcage as she leaned over. “I broke a rib, didn’t I?”

“Broke two ribs and fractured another, and have so many cuts and bruises that I get incensed just thinking about how they were caused. You lost a considerable amount of blood. Dorian and Vivienne have tried to mend you as best they could - we didn’t want to alert the Council of the grievousness of the situation unless we absolutely had to.”

“How long has it been?”

“Two days,” he said, rubbing the stubble on his chin and yawning.

“You haven’t slept at all, have you?”

“I was just sleeping! You should be proud of me.”

“On a stool? That hardly counts as sleep.” She started moving to pat the bed on her left without thinking and caught herself at the last second. _This is fine_, she told herself. _This isn’t really me. The real Raynda Lavellan has two arms._

She paused and then beckoned him over with her right hand. “Come sleep beside me.” Cullen looked at her hesitantly. “I need you,” she pleaded. She had meant to be cute and loving, to be lighthearted and coax him to come lie down, but as the words came out they had taken on a life of their own. She did need him. She needed him more than she had ever needed anyone. Even under a multitude of blankets she felt naked and exposed, vulnerable in a way that she hadn’t been in years. Cullen was protection and stability and unconditional love.

Pushing the dog over to make some space, she tried to raise herself on her elbows to move over as well. She had forgotten that she only had an elbow, singular, rather than elbows, plural and the imbalance the action caused put considerable pressure on her rib. She cried out in pain, squinting her eyes shut.

Cullen was up and beside her in a second. “If you insist on moving, let me help you,” he said as he picked her up like she was nothing and gently put her back down a little farther toward the other side of the bed. He stroked the side of her face with such a soft, concerned look in his eyes that all Raynda wanted was to wrap him up in her arms and squeeze him tight and she was frustrated that she couldn’t.

“What happened to your arm?” he blurted out quickly, looking as though he was afraid that he would upset her by the question but even more fearful of the answer.  
Of course, he couldn’t have already known. She had been alone when it was taken. Nobody could have seen what happened. “I’ll tell you what I remember if you come lie down,” she said, flicking her eyes toward the now empty, Cullen-sized spot beside her and trying to muster up a playful smile, with dubious success.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. Can you just get over here now?” she asked impatiently.

Finally giving in, Cullen laid down on the bed beside her on his side, facing her. “Alright, now your arm,” he said, rubbing at his bleary eyes.

“Well,” she began. “It sounds insane - you aren’t going to believe it. Solas took it. Sent it into the Fade or something. He said he was trying to save my life. Also, he’s the elven god Fen’Harel. Except that there aren’t really elven gods. So, uh, there’s that.”

He looked blankly at her, blinking as though he hadn’t absorbed anything she’d said. She’d have to try to explain more another time when he didn’t look half asleep, poor thing.

“I’ll tell you again later. Come here, you’re not close enough. My arm doesn’t hurt.” Raynda patted her shoulder and Cullen moved closer, resting his head on her.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much,” she said, running her fingers through his hair and finally smoothing the curls that had become unruly down. “I’m glad you’re here.” She whispered the words, tilting her head to kiss his.

“I’d never leave you.” His words were slightly slurred and heavy with the sleep he was finally allowing himself to fall into now that she had awoken. He was so terrible about not giving himself time to rest. While fighting in the Arbor Wilds he hadn’t slept for three days, and then only fitfully until returning to Skyhold and collapsing into her bed.

His deep, measured breathing signified that he had already fallen back asleep, her sweet, exhausted husband. Husband. It was only one conscious day ago that they’d been married privately, and most of that had been filled with a plot to destroy Thedas and the looming spectre of her own death by fade-hand. For at least at this moment everything was right in the world. Feeling Cullen’s warmth next to her she could almost forget what she was missing, pretend that maybe as the rest of her body healed she’d heal that too. At least they were together, she thought as she drifted off to sleep herself.

* * *

“He positively growled at me. _Growled_. ‘I just want to try something,’ I told him. ‘_Trying_ isn’t good enough, Dorian, you need to be certain,’ he said. I thought he was about to rip my head clean off. It was probably for the best, though - after an hour’s more research I discovered a few… undesirable side effects. You can thank your husband for the lack of purple spots on the underside of your feet.”

It hurt to laugh, but Raynda did it anyway. She was glad to be able to spend some time with her dear friend - they hadn’t seen each other in so long, not since he had returned home to Tevinter, and she had missed him terribly. She hadn’t had to wait long to see him after waking up either. The mage had been completely casually loitering near the door in a way that definitely didn’t bespeak his worry for her and had entered the room almost immediately after Cullen had told him that she was awake.

“Thanks for looking after me.”

“It wasn’t easy, between Cullen not letting anyone near you and my own purely academic knowledge of advanced healing spells, but I was determined not to let Vivienne have all the glory. And besides, who would I talk to if you died? It was completely selfish really.”

His tone was flippant, as it so often was, but there was a lingering concern in his gaze. Dorian, sitting casually on the side of the bed with his legs crossed and looking impeccably well-groomed, scanned her over as though attempting to ascertain that there was nothing more he could do for her. His eyes rested on Raynda’s arm, or lack thereof, which was plainly visible now that she was reclining on a rather ridiculous amount of pillows and not tucked under the covers. It wasn’t bandaged; there hadn’t seemed to be a point to it as there was no wound.

In a moment of seriousness he looked her directly in the eyes and patted her leg gently. “I should have done more,” he said, holding the hem of his robe between two of his fingers and running them up and down over the luxurious, silken fabric. It was one of the few nervous gestures that he allowed himself, trained as he had been since his youth to keep his emotions hidden.

She gave him a soft smile. “I don’t blame you, you know. Limb replacement seems like something beyond even your reach.”

“You’d be surprised. I’m fairly certain I could provide you with a prehensile tail if you’d like.”

“Somehow I feel like Cullen wouldn’t appreciate that.”

“Probably not, but just think of the convenience! You’d never drop anything again.” His mustache twitched in amusement at his own joke and Raynda could help smiling herself.

Having Dorian around made her feel like far less of an invalid, despite the constant reminders of that reality whenever she laughed. He had always been her champion, shoring up her self-confidence when the burden of command was too much, helping her to quiet self-doubt. He floated about like a well-dressed tornado, somehow bringing with him both a flurry of activity and profound internal calm. Never at a loss for words, he navigated through any awkwardness with wit and grace; Raynda often wished that she had the ability to do the same with such proficiency.

The afternoon light poured in from the now-opened curtains and filled the room with sunshine. It always seemed to be so bright in Orlais. Perhaps the sun here was also an illusion, a glittery facade to disguise any ugliness beneath, like so much of Orlesian society. In the moment, though, it was warm and cheery and Dorian was smiling and she was smiling and everything was just fine and she didn’t need to worry about not being able to shoot because the person who couldn’t use a bow anymore wasn’t the same person as the one healing in the sunshine. Everything was fine. She was fine.


	2. Numb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this chapter does get slightly NSFW, nothing explicit though.

Waking up proved to be a mistake. At first it had been nice seeing the people who cared about her. Cassandra had given her a gruff, “I knew you’d pull through,” with a pat on the shoulder, but Raynda saw her wiping at her eye as she left the room. Sera had burst in and hopped up on the bed, holding her arms out in a big circle around her just in case touching hurt but mimicking a hug. She had looked every inch like an unruly mess - Dorian had mentioned that she had often curled up on the floor outside her room waiting for her to be alright. They’d all been waiting, pausing their own lives for  _ her _ . She didn’t know how she could possibly deserve so many people’s affection. Three years ago she had been almost completely alone and it had seemed impossible that she could ever have such a large group of close friends. Family, really. She loved them all.

After her friends had had a chance to see her, though, what seemed like an endless parade of well wishers she barely knew had come through until finally Cassandra came and stood guard for her so that she could rest and debrief with her advisors. The state of her arm came as a shock to many visitors from outside of her inner circle, as Josephine had simply stated that she was “under the weather.” Raynda wondered what stories would be told about it until the truth came out, and how outlandish they would grow even after it was known. 

Meeting with the advisors, the three of them standing around where she sat on the bed, allowed her an opportunity to more fully explain to Cullen what she had so quickly summed up about Solas and her arm. While she had been unconscious they had learned as much as her companions could tell them about what had happened, but none of them had been there when she met Solas and none had been there when her arm began to disappear. Her revelations regarding him being Fen’Harel, the trickster god of elven lore, were a little bit less shocking than she’d expected that they would be. Leliana, erstwhile spymaster and now Divine, was mainly concerned with the knowledge that there were spies from multiple organizations inside the Inquisition; she’d known that there must be some but was disappointed that her new responsibilities had prevented her from being more vigilant.

Josephine looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, and of course she must - the poor thing had been left to deal with the Council all alone in Raynda’s absence. In her presence, too, realistically, since Raynda had been off shutting down Qunari conspiracies while Josie held down the fort. She rubbed at her eyes, supporting her chin with her hand and looking like she would have fallen asleep on the spot if the meeting had been less important. 

Cullen, both her husband and commander of her forces, looked increasingly angry every time Solas’ name was mentioned. He had remained quiet while the other advisors asked questions, his knitted brows heralding an oncoming storm. Now clean and pressed with his hair slicked back, he was barely recognizable as the worried, sleepy lover of the morning. While Raynda explained what had happened to her arm he paced around the room like a caged lion, hands clasped behind his back.

“Does it… does it trouble you very much?” Josephine asked her haltingly. Josie was always so sweet. That she would even ask at all was a mark of how much affection she had for her - she was always scrupulously polite and wouldn’t have been quite as direct if she cared less for her.

“No, it’s okay. It might be the only part of me that doesn’t hurt right now. At least the glow won’t keep me up at night anymore,” she joked. Nobody laughed, though Josie attempted a half hearted smile. Everybody seemed to be continually trying to find out if she was okay. She was fine, really, if only they’d stop asking. Every time someone asked, she had to think about it again. It was only when she thought about it that she was uncomfortable.

She needed to change the subject. “I’ve had a bit of time to think about the Inquisition’s future. When we came here, I had every intention of arguing to continue on but I think it’s time we ‘laid down our swords and went home,’ as some have  _ repeatedly _ quoted to me. With the sheer number of spies who have infiltrated us I don’t know who I can trust anymore.”

Cullen’s eyes flashed and his face twisted in anger. He spoke sharply. “Would you leave us defenceless when Solas strikes down the veil? How would we find him effectively without the networks we’ve built?” 

She had known that he would be the most difficult to convince, but she hadn’t quite anticipated needing to fight with him rather than having a civil conversation. She didn’t allow her tone to stray from neutral as she responded to him. “We can make a shadow organization that’s smaller and more streamlined if all we take are a few trusted people.” Cullen refused to look at her, instead glowering past his boots on the floor.

“It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” said Josephine. “The mess we’ve caused here - even if we were not to disband, we need to reorganize. Fereldan has been clamouring for it and now even Orlais is calling for reform. Things cannot go on as they are.”

He rounded on the diplomat. “We have an army that can rival even that of Orlais, they don’t have the power to call for anything! Am I the only person who sees the threat presented by hampering our ability to respond to anything Solas does?” Josephine simply looked at him with large, surprised eyes, hanging her mouth open slightly. Yelling at her must have been like kicking a small woodland creature and Raynda knew Cullen would feel terrible about it after his anger wore off.

“It is no use being able to respond to threats if your enemy is informed of your actions beforehand,” Leliana said calmly. “According to the Inquisitor, we have the time to rebuild before Solas tries to reopen the veil. I suggest we use it.”

“Especially if the Inquisitor intends to convince him not to do it - sending an army to his door is less convincing than going as a friend,” added Josephine, finding her voice again.

Cullen gripped the back of his neck angrily and rounded on both of them. “He betrayed us! He took Raynda’s arm! Why are we pretending we should save him?” Looking at Raynda almost pleadingly, he continued, “Solas fixed the mark before, in Haven! You said he fixed it in the eluvian too. How was it beyond him to fix it permanently?”

Dorian had been right. He did growl. She had never seen him quite this angry before, not even when she had recruited the mages of Redcliffe as allies, and he had been rather loud then. It was starting to get her back up. After all, who was the one who had lost the most from the whole Solas situation? Her. And she wasn’t angry. He had no right to try to make her angry. 

“I can’t pretend to understand what was on my hand, but I knew how it felt. I was dying,” she said dispassionately despite the growing ire deep within herself. “He saved my life and for that I have to try to save him in return.” 

“I can’t accept that.”

“It’s not your decision.” She spoke firmly and with conviction, refusing to back down from her position.

Cullen’s eyes blazed. “You can’t decide something like that unilaterally, with no consultation. He hurt you! There had to have been another way to save you. He took your arm from you, you shouldn’t feel grateful!”

“Don’t tell me how to feel.”

Their eyes met, kindred obstinacy recognizing itself. There could be no possible compromise between them today. She might love him more than anything in the world but Creators he was a stubborn man - and she was no less stubborn herself. They fought very rarely, but when they did? It was like two halla locking antlers.

He tried to appeal to the other advisors when he realized that his wife wouldn’t budge. “How can you all entertain this foolhardy idea? We have an enemy, we need to face him.”

Leliana and Josephine looked uncomfortable. This was clearly turning into far more than a debate among council members and neither of them seemed to want any part in a lovers’ quarrel, not when everyone was so drained from the last few days.

Raynda continued, still eerily calm. “We will. But I will not kill him except as a last resort.” There was an air of finality to her tone that made it sound like a warning.

He waved his hand dismissively. “Does how much he’s taken from you not bother you at all? How can you forgive that? He betrayed us, you most of all!” His voice cracked a little and he ran his hand through his hair frustratedly. “You may be able to forgive him but I cannot forgive someone who hurt you. You should be angry!”

“Get out.”

Cullen’s face fell and he looked for an instant like she had slapped him, before he recovered himself and his face became a mask of impassivity, impossible to read. 

“I love you but I can’t do this today. Please leave until you can have a productive discussion without yelling at me for not feeling the way you do.”

“I was only trying to say -“ he began. 

“You’ve made your point abundantly clear.”

He was searching her eyes for something he could hold onto, that connection, the love they shared, but she gave him nothing. She was furious, with a quiet, dangerous anger that felt more threatening than if she were to raise her voice. There was nothing more to say. Cullen turned quickly and left. He let the door fall heavily behind him and Raynda braced herself for the loud boom as it hit the frame, but he caught it at the last second and turned the handle softly. 

“Perhaps we should come back to this tomorrow morning, once everyone’s had time to rest,” said Josephine diplomatically.

On her way out, Leliana came close to Raynda’s bed. “I know it is difficult to separate Raynda the person from Raynda the Inquisitor but you must try. It’s no less difficult for Cullen. He means well.” 

She felt a pang of guilt. She knew that she shouldn’t have taken what he said so personally, but it had struck a nerve - what  _ was _ she supposed to feel? She’d recently shifted from being blissfully happy to being extremely anxious to being in extreme pain and shock and subsequently having some measure of confusion, all in the span of a few days. She wanted to determine what she felt for herself and Cullen wasn’t helping by forcing the issue. But on the other hand, he had stayed with her for days and still had only had a few hours sleep himself. He was obviously hurting, potentially more so than her at the moment. What she’d done might have been a step too far. She decided that she would apologize to him as soon as she calmed down, even though she wasn’t feeling all that forgiving. Sometimes just saying the words seemed to help make them true.

  


* * *

  


A few hours later she sat in a large white claw foot tub filled with water so hot that the steam rising from it left droplets on her face. A servant had offered to run her a bath in the small, tiled room adjoining her own and Raynda had gratefully accepted, though she’d had to shoo away the small army of attendants offering to help wash her. It may be how they did things in Orlais, but she wasn’t an infant.

Out of habit she reached up with both arms to wash her hair. Something about the action, one that was once so familiar and mundane but was now complicated and required adaptation, struck her hard. She felt as though she couldn’t breathe, like a fracture had formed in her heart. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. The only emotion she felt was loss, and she couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t. It was too much. This wasn’t happening to her. _No. No, no, no._ _It was fine. Everything was fine before._

She finally caught her breath after what felt like hours and the pain subsided into numbness. She finished her bath as though in a daze, then wrapped herself in the towel left nearby. As she combed out her wet hair she stared unemotionally at her face in the little glass on the wall. The blue vallaslin on her cheekbones reflected the light, making them look shiny and otherworldly. Slave markings, Solas had told her. But they weren’t. Maybe they were once. Time steals the original meaning of everything. Only the Chantry was so inflexible that it permitted no variation as the ages passed, and even then the Chant became misconstrued and reinterpreted constantly. No, Solas simply presumed that the culture of his time was better and truer because it was older. She wasn’t embarrassed by her tattoos. They were a badge of honour, symbolizing the world of the present that she was committed to preserving.

Under the markings and elsewhere on her face there were some tiny scrapes, nearly healed, and a few yellow bruises that had almost disappeared. Whatever Dorian and Vivienne had done to make her heal faster had worked wonders. Even her ribs had felt better just since the morning. She was about to inspect the rest of her body when she heard a hesitant knock at the door and Cullen’s voice softly asking if he could come in. She didn’t feel any anger toward him anymore. Any lingering resentment had been buried by the emptiness overshadowing her. 

Raynda let him in, her wet hair dripping into tiny puddles on the marble floor. He stood in front of her and touched the back of his neck, like he so often did when he was nervous, then straightened and looked her square in the eyes.

“Please forgive me for how I spoke to you. It was wrong of me to dismiss how you felt, and I should not have raised my voice. I was blinded by my own anger and it was unfair to you.” 

Of course she would forgive him; she already had. Rationally, she knew that he had had every reason to be upset, on both her behalf and his own. Solas had hurt her, and in doing so had hurt Cullen too. He must feel betrayed. The numbness had made it simpler for her to approach the situation with some semblance of objectivity. A small part of her felt sympathy towards him and recognized that she should help him to heal his own pain, but she just couldn’t. There was nothing left of her to give to anyone else.

She craved a connection but couldn’t form words. Talking about her emotions seemed intolerable, but she didn’t want to be alone. She looked at her husband, the sweet, good man whose honour drove him to apologize without any justifications or excuses, and all she felt was hunger. Hunger for him, to be close to him, to take him inside her and be enveloped by him. To experience forgetfulness from within his embrace.

Clutching the back of his neck firmly, she brought his head down and kissed him, hard, driving her tongue into his mouth in a way that brooked no opposition. She’d caught him by surprise but a moment later he was kissing her back, both of his hands wound through her damp hair. There was desperation on his lips, a mutual desire for intimacy driven by a heady mix of both relief and pain. She was alive and needed to feel it, and it didn’t have to be romantic as long as she could be with him, find her way back to him. Raynda untucked his plain linen shirt and pulled the garment over his head while he tossed her towel onto the floor and ran his hands across her back, caressing her bruised body gently, carefully, while nuzzling her neck. She tore at the laces on his breeches but as she made to pull his trousers down he stopped her, stepping back until there was space between them. 

“Are you sure? You’re still healing.”

“Absolutely.”

His breeches were at his knees in a flash and in a couple of smooth motions Cullen kicked off his boots and completed the disrobing. He picked her up as she stood before him and she wrapped her legs around him while he carried her to the bed, laying her down sideways on the bed as softly as he could manage. 

It was fast and it was hard and it was exactly what she wanted. It seemed to be what he wanted too. Neither of them were gentle and every movement brought with it some pain from her broken body. She almost liked how it hurt - it let her know that she could still feel  _ something.  _ Under Cullen she was small and delicate and he was safe and strong and it didn’t matter that she didn’t have a hand. For a brief moment she didn’t have to think about how everything that had ever made her special in any way had been taken from her. She could lose herself in the heavy breaths in her ear turning rapidly into moans, the increasingly urgent motions, the sensations growing in intensity...

Afterwards, they lay beside each other on the bed. Cullen sighed with satisfaction, a half-smile playing in the corner of his mouth. “So I suppose I am forgiven?” 

“Always, love,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have treated you that way, especially not in front of others. I think I’m just a little oversensitive right now.” She felt a pinching pain in her ribcage, but it was tolerable.

“I failed to control my own anger and will strive to do better in the future. It’s only that the thought of forgiving…” His face hardened and he took a deep breath before regaining control over his features. “I could not bear the thought of losing you. I waited for you to wake up for so long, knowing full well that you might not.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere now.” She winced a little, glad that he wasn’t looking at her. The pinching was starting to turn into a rather distracting ache.

Turning over to her he let go of her hand and ran his fingers through her hair. Pushing it away from her face he gave her a gentle kiss, soft and delicate, like he was afraid to break her now. Cullen smelled like soap from his own bath earlier in the day and underneath it there was something else, the scent that she couldn’t define but which was undeniably him that she had always revelled in. She stroked his back, smoothing down the gooseflesh from the slightly chilled room that made the fine hairs on it stand on end. The feelings from the morning, the relief and care and  _ love _ that she felt for this man… she knew that she still felt them somewhere, but the numbness had taken them too when it took away the feelings that were too difficult to endure. All that was left was the increasingly unpleasant physical pain in her body. He deserved so much more from her.

“You should probably say sorry to Josephine for snapping at her,” she said in an attempt to deflect his attention away from herself.

He leaned back beside her and balanced on his elbow, grimacing slightly at the recollection while aimlessly tracing patterns on her shoulder. “I have. Profusely. Even sent her cake.”

“I have to say, this room seems to be sorely lacking in cake.” It was easier to bear the increasing discomfort when she was talking. She could almost even smile.

“By design. I know you don’t care for cake so while I did manage to find some I relieved you of the burden of eating it - it was delicious by the way. I would like to point out that there is a tea kettle waiting in the fireplace though.”

“You’re a good man, Cullen Rutherford.”  _ And a far better person than me, _ she thought.

“Well, I married a good woman, Raynda Rutherford.”

The look in his eyes and the sound of her married name caused her to feel a flutter despite the numbness that ever so briefly replaced the now-impossible-to ignore pain. She winced again, more openly this time. “While I would love to continue this line of conversation - would you mind getting Dorian?”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his face full of concern.

“It’s nothing… I’ll be fine. I may have… ‘overexerted’ myself too soon.”

“I shouldn’t have -” Cullen began, before she cut him off.

“You should have done exactly what you did.” He didn’t seem convinced, but let the matter drop. “I wanted you.” Raynda reached up to ruffle his hair and shut her eyes, running the tamed curls between her fingers and feeling the slight waxiness of the paste coating the strands. Drawing him down to her she kissed his forehead before releasing him so that he could make himself decent and retrieve the mage. She should be feeling more for him. She  _ knew _ she loved him. Why couldn’t she?

“Do you think we can play it off as you simply taking a turn for the worse? He’ll never let us live down the actual circumstances of the situation.” 

“I doubt it,” she said with a small laugh before taking a moment to catch her breath from the sharp twinge it caused.


	3. Helpless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Raynda begin to come to terms with their new reality and end the Exalted Council.

Cullen was standing alone in one of the long stone hallways of Skyhold when yet another messenger ran up to him in what felt like the fiftieth interruption that day.

“Commander! The Lady Inquisitor requests that you meet her in her quarters. She says to bring the report on the viability of using halla to trim the grass around Skyhold.”

Cullen struggled to hide his grin. Raynda thought she was so clever asking for reports that he’d never make in an attempt to disguise the true purpose of her invitations from the messengers. He was certain that they were as transparent to them as they were to him, but it didn’t matter. Telling the messenger that it was lucky, he just so happened to have the report on him at that moment, he climbed the stairs up to the Inquisitor’s quarters. 

He opened the heavy wooden door fully expecting to be embraced with shocking rapidity, as she so often did when he entered, and planted his feet in anticipation. He liked to complain that her tackling him was childish, citing their rather advanced years of thirty and thirty-three, but both of them knew very well that he loved it. She was a bright light illuminating all the darkened spaces within him that he hadn’t even realized weren’t lit. Her smile may not heal all ills, but it definitely made them more bearable. 

She never came to meet him at the door. Where was she? Something seemed off. The room was darker somehow, where were the windows? Why were there so many beds?

_ No. No no no no. Not here. Anywhere but here.  _

He was nineteen again, in the Templar barracks in Kinloch Hold. Once more he fought off abominations desperately and tried to rally his friends only to watch them get cut down in front of him. Again he ran up to the harrowing chamber in an attempt to stop Uldred and his abominations from overrunning the tower. There were so few of them left. He had to do it. It was his duty. The halls smelled metallic and the floor was slick, but he didn’t have time to think about why. He felt once again the visceral fear that turned his stomach as he reached the harrowing chamber.

Just like before, Solona was there outside the chamber. Uldred was trying to convince her to join them while she repeatedly refused. He commanded Uldred to stand down, to leave her be, but the blood mage only laughed and cast a spell. Walls that he felt rather than saw surrounded him.

_ Trapped. It’s so small. There’s no air. I can’t get out. I failed, again. _

More Templars entered and more Templars died ignominious deaths. There was no glory in this senseless wholesale slaughter. It was not grand or valiant or anything he’d imagined someone dying in battle would be.

Solona refused to join Uldred again, like always, who then mocked them both for their infatuation as he slit her throat, tossing her dying body toward his prison before proceeding into the harrowing chamber. 

_ Don’t look, don’t look, you know what happened. _

But of course he did, like he did every time in this variation of the nightmare. 

She wasn’t wearing mage robes, that was unusual. That wasn’t how this dream had played out before. Instead she was clad in tight leather. It seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen it before. 

When he saw her hair, he knew. The red strands were spread around her head, growing sticky with the blood from her neck. He didn’t have to see the tattoos on her cheekbones or the scar by her eye to know that it was her, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away. Her green-blue eyes were open, staring lifelessly up at the ceiling. A rivulet of blood flowed along the cracks in the floor toward him in his prison. He couldn’t hold her, couldn’t touch her, trapped behind his magical barrier, but her blood on the flagstones mocked him as it drew nearer. When he looked at his hands they were covered in blood and he intuitively knew that it was hers. If it had been her instead of Solona, would he have given in to the demons? He knew now that he would have and despised himself for that knowledge. He’d give anything for her to be alive and safe. 

This was already too much to bear and he knew what torments still awaited him if he couldn’t wake up. But what if this  _ was _ reality? Perhaps his brief happiness was just a trick, an illusion meant to break him further? Had he lived an entire life in his mind only for the comforting lie that he could be happy to be ripped away to unleash further torture? He closed his eyes.  _ Breathe in.  _ One second. _ Fulfill your duty, Templar.  _ Two seconds. _ This will not break you.  _ Three seconds. _ You will endure. Breathe out. _

When he reopened his eyes the scene had changed and the harsh grey stone had turned to shining marble. Costly, overused perfumes lingered in the air and replaced the stench of blood and decay. The eluvian in the Winter Palace stood before him, the shining gold edges glinting in the bright light from the lamps on the walls. He knew Raynda was inside. He should be with her. It was his duty to stay behind, to be the commander rather than the soldier, but could he not be the husband too? She had been gone so long. The glass of the mirror rippled and Dorian stepped out, carrying her limp, bloodsoaked form. Her head lolled back on his arm, revealing the red slit that had stolen her life away.  _ Maker, please no, _ he prayed as he fell to his knees.  _ Not her. Please. I can’t. _

A voice in the back of his head prodded at his conscience and sanity.

_ It was your fault. _

_ You sent her into danger. _

_ You failed to protect her. _

_ She died because of you. _

_ And she wouldn’t be the first. _

Cullen awoke with a start, tasting iron.  _ That’s not how it happened. It can’t be.  _

He tried to get his bearings, not sure of where he was or how much of what he saw was his imagination or reality. He was in a bed somewhere, that much he could gather - the blanket on top of him was suffocating. Ripping it away, he cast a panicked look around the dimly lit room and felt his heart fall into his throat when he saw her lying unmoving beside him. 

_ Bed.  _

_ Beds mean sleep. She’s just sleeping. _

His eyes scanned her desperately to make certain that she was, in fact, alive. Watching her chest rise and fall rhythmically with her breathing began to steady him. She was alright. It was just a dream. Again. 

Maker, would this ever stop? Could he never be free of the twisted memories and warped reflections of his present circumstances that constantly haunted him and made him feel like a madman? The nightmares had become less frequent over the past few months, while things had been calm and Raynda had been home more often, but it appeared that that had only been a brief respite. He gripped the sheet below him in his fist, not sure whether it was to reassure himself that this was reality or to vent his frustration at his own weakness.

Looking back at the woman beside him, vibrant red hair spread out on the pillow, he felt glad that Raynda hadn’t woken up when he had. She needed rest to heal and had enough to worry about without adding him to that list. His poor girl, she was still so wounded. The bruises on her face were almost gone - that was good, at one point they had discoloured her skin so badly that he could barely see her freckles under all the purple. The long cut that had traced her jaw down her pointed chin was gone. It had been minor, but it hadn’t looked it before she’d been cleaned up and had terrified him then. Thanks to Dorian’s devotion it looked like she wouldn’t carry any new scars from the encounter, with the exception of the missing arm of course. He hoped that their activities of the preceding evening hadn’t set her healing back much; after Dorian had come she seemed better quickly enough, but he was still concerned. 

It had been so difficult to watch her lie unconscious and be unable to do anything useful for her. He’d thought she’d woken up once on the first day: she’d called to him and he had dared to allow himself to hope, but then she’d slept for another day. He wasn’t sure if she even remembered it. But his darling girl was strong and had finally awoken, releasing the vice grip on his heart. 

It still broke for her when he thought of her arm. Many of his soldiers had lost limbs and he had seen how difficult it was to adapt. He was trying and failing to be the rock that she could lean on, he himself still attempting to recover from the fear he had felt when the woman he had sworn to love and protect returned to him broken, bloody, and bruised. He knew better than most how cruel and transitory life could be, blind chance stealing friends and family and leaving only nightmares and heartbreak behind. Thank Holy Andraste she didn’t number among them.

He was tempted to get up and take a quick walk to clear his head but after the images that had so recently gone through his mind he was not about to leave Raynda alone. Instead, he put his arm across her and drew closer, her newly-healed skin soft under his calloused fingers. The scent of wildflowers was in her hair and he put his face close to her shoulder to try to coax himself back to sleep until dawn came.

* * *

Finally well enough to leave her chambers, Raynda stood in front of the small glass looking remarkably dissatisfied at her reflection as she prepared for the day. She yanked at her ponytail irritably and slammed the hair tie down on the table in front of her, glaring at the inanimate object as though it had been created specifically to spite her. 

“Fenedhis, shit, damn it, why won’t the blasted thing work? No matter what I try I always seem to miss something.”

“Do you need any help?” Cullen asked from across the room where he was putting on his dress uniform.

“No, I need to learn. I suppose I’ll just look unkempt for a while.” She grunted in frustration, tying yet another lopsided ponytail with random strands of hair hanging loose. Cullen came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, kissing behind her right ear.

“You could always leave it down. You have lovely hair.” She didn’t appreciate it nearly as much as he did; its inability to hold a curl had always vexed her. Her straight, thin hair was a stark contrast to the unruly curls that Cullen tried to force into submission daily. In another life, when she was happy, she used to joke about wanting to trade hair with him.

She smiled at him tiredly in the glass, reaching up to hold the hand on her shoulder. “It’s just that I really hate it getting in my eyes. Makes it impossible to see in a fight.”

“Do you anticipate much combat with the diplomats today?” he said teasingly.

“With words, absolutely. With weapons… well that remains to be seen.” Hanging her head so that she couldn’t see the reflection of her face, she added, “Not that I would be of much use where that’s concerned.” 

He squeezed her hand supportively. “When we return to Skyhold my first priority will be to help you become defensible again. I’m sure Dagna can think of a creative way to fix things.”

Raynda ripped her hand away, eyes blazing and mouth set in sudden fury. “I don’t want to be ‘fixed,’ I just want my arm back!” She bit her bottom lip and shut her eyes, not able to bear the hurt look she was sure must be on Cullen’s face. What was wrong with her? Why did she insist on lashing out at him? She was a monster. A horrible, cruel, crippled monster. Tears began to sting her eyes, working their way out down her cheeks even when she tried to hold them back. She was so angry at herself, and Solas, and the Council, and the world at large for finally giving her some purpose to her life and then stealing it back, leaving her with no identity, no ability to fight, and apparently no filter as well.

She felt herself get turned around to face Cullen as he wrapped his arms around her. They were strong and solid, a bulwark protecting her from the rest of the world. Burying her face in his shoulder she began to quietly sob, choking out that she was sorry.

“I know, my darling. I know.” 

He held her until she stopped shaking, murmuring vaguely comforting things that she barely understood into her ear while she clung to his voice like it was safe harbour from the storm inside her.

* * *

Dust danced in a sun beam shining through one of the tall windows in the library. Raynda watched it float, finding it difficult to concentrate on the conversation occurring around the long desk that was temporarily serving as a war table. In a rare display of affection in front of his colleagues, Cullen was standing close to her with his arm around her waist. Perhaps it was his attempt to show that they had made up after the kerfuffle of the day before so that it wouldn’t need to be spoken of. Or maybe he just loved her, that was certainly a viable option. Whatever the reason for it, she was grateful for the support. 

The meeting went smoother this time, with fewer passionate outbursts. Though still displeased by her decision, Cullen had reached a compromise with her the night before and they were determined to present a united front today, not that the other advisors needed much convincing.

It was all decided in about five minutes, so quickly that it made Raynda’s head spin. The Inquisition would disband that very afternoon - it was best to just lay the matter to rest, after the days of stalling Josephine had been doing. The poor diplomat was looking sorely worn down and completely exhausted, though when asked how she was she didn’t complain but said simply that she’d like to be able to sleep in her own bed again. 

What took hours of deliberation was  _ how _ it would be disbanded, what to do with its assets, and how to phrase the speech Raynda would have to give. In the end, it was decided that Skyhold would be abandoned, deprived of any of the threat it had become imbued with while the Inquisition called it home and placed under the authority of a caretaker to prevent others from claiming it. If they were lucky, they might be able to negotiate positions elsewhere for the people living there, maybe even get some land from the neighbouring kingdoms for those who would have to leave so that they wouldn’t have to start over from nothing. 

During whatever hand-off needed to occur, provided their plan was accepted, the underground Inquisition would privately approach a select handful of agents and then scatter to the winds, meeting publicly only for social engagements as friends. It wasn’t perfect, but by the end of their discussion all of the advisors agreed that the threat of corruption and infiltration was great enough that it was the best solution. It also had the distinct benefit of allowing all of them to resume normal lives, though what a ‘normal’ life entailed was something Raynda couldn’t be sure of. It didn’t even matter anymore. All she wanted was to be home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the gap in posting! I've been focusing on one-shots, but still have a ton of ideas for this story!


End file.
